Rex Stout - Gambit

I opened them. 'I pass. I'm sure one of the papers said what your cousin Morton does for a living, but I can't recall it.' 'He's in my father's business.' Her brows were up, making her eyes even bigger. 'You must have a good memory, even without your full attention.' 'My memory is so good I'm practically a freak, but we keep newspapers for two weeks and I admit I looked them over after you phoned. From here on you may know things that haven't been published. The police and the District Attorney always save some details. I know from the papers that your father played at Table Number Six. That the steward and the cook, Bernard Nash and Tony Laghi, were in the kitchen in the basement, down a flight. That shortly after play started a pot of hot chocolate was taken from the kitchen to Paul Jerin in the library, and he drank some, I don't know how much, and about half an hour later he told one of the messengers, Yerkes, the banker, that he didn't feel well, and at or about nine-thirty he told another messenger, Kalmus, the lawyer, that he couldn't go on; and Kalmus went and brought a doctor, one of the players�I don't know which table� named Victor Avery. Dr Avery asked Jerin some questions and sent someone to a drug store on Sixth Avenue for something. By the time the medicine arrived Jerin was worse and 12 the doctor dosed him. In another half an hour Jerin was even worse and they sent for an ambulance. He arrived at St Vincent's Hospital in the ambulance, accompanied by Dr Avery, at a quarter to eleven, and he died at twenty minutes past three. Later the Medical Examiner found arsenic in him. The Times didn't say how much, but the Gazette said seven grains. Any correction?' 'I don't know.' 'Not published if the arsenic was in the chocolate. Was it?' 'I don't know.' 'Also not published, the name of the person who took the chocolate from the kitchen up to the library. Do you know that?' 'Yes. My father did.' I gawked at her. Wolfe's hand stopped short on its way to the fire with pages. I spoke. 'But your father was at Table Six, playing chess. Wasn't he?' 'Yes. But when he made his second move the messenger for that table, Mr Hausman, wasn't there at the moment, and he got up and went to see if Paul had been supplied with chocolate. Table Six was at the end of the room next to the library. The chocolate hadn't been brought, and my father went down to the kitchen and got it.' 'And took it up to Jerin himself?' 'Yes.' Wolfe shot a glance at her. I took a breath. 13 'Of course I believe you, but how do you know?' 'My father told me. The next day. He wasn't arrested until Saturday�of course you know that. He told my mother and me exactly what happened. That's partly why I know he didn't do it, the way he told us about it, the way he took it for granted that we would know he didn't do it.' Her eyes went to Wolfe. 'You would say that's not cogent for you, but it certainly is for me. I know.' 'Okay,' I said, 'he delivered the chocolate. Putting it on a table by the couch Jerin was sitting on?' 'Yes. A tray, with the pot and a cup and saucer and a napkin.' 'You say your father told you all about it. Did Jerin eat or drink anything besides the chocolate?' 'No. There was nothing else.' 'Between the time your father took him the chocolate and the time he told Yerkes he didn't feel well, about half an hour, did anyone enter the library besides the messengers?' 'No. At least my father thought not, but he wasn't absolutely certain.' She smiled at Wolfe. 'I can ask him. You said you couldn't move a finger without his cooperation, but I can get to see him and ask him anything you want me to. Of course without telling him it's for you.' No comment. He tore pages out. 14 I eyed her. 'You said you don't know if the arsenic was in the chocolate. Didn't your father mention if there was any left in the pot and if it was kept for the police?' 'Yes, it was kept, but the pot was full.' 'Full? Hadn't Jerin drunk any?' 'Yes, he had drunk a lot. When Mr Yerkes told my father that Paul had told him he wasn't feeling well, my father went to the library. The pot had a little left in it, and the cup was half full. He took them down to the kitchen and rinsed them out. The cook and steward said nothing had been put in but milk and powdered chocolate and sugar. They had some more ready, and they filled the pot, and my father took it up to the library with a clean cup. Apparently Paul didn't drink any of that because the pot was still full.' I was staring at her, speechless. Wolfe wasn't staring, he was glaring. 'Miss Blount,' he said. 'Either your father is an unexampled jackass, or he is innocent.' She nodded. 'I know. I said I'd have to tell you things I shouldn't tell anybody. I've already told you Clan Kalmus is in love with my mother, and now this. I don't know whether my father has told the police about it. I suppose the cook and steward have, but maybe they haven't. But I had to tell you, I have to tell you everything I know, so you can decide what to do. Don't I?' 'Yes. I commend you. People seldom tell me 15 everything they know. The cook and steward have of course told the police; no wonder your father has been charged with murder.5 Wolfe shut his eyes and tried leaning back, but it was no go in that chair. In the made-to-order oversized chair at his desk that was automatic when he wanted to consider something, leaning back and closing his eyes, and, finding that it wouldn't work, he let out a growl. He straightened up and demanded, 'You have money in that bag?5 She opened it and took out a fat wad of bills with rubber bands around them. 'Twenty-two thousand dollars,' she said, and held it out to him. He didn't take it. 'You said you sold some things. What things? Yours?' 'Yes. I had some in my bank account, and I sold some jewelry.' 'Your own jewelry?' 'Yes. Of course. How could I sell someone else's?' 'It has been done. Archie. Count it.' I extended a hand and she gave me the wad. As I removed the rubber bands and started counting, Wolfe tore out pages and dropped them on the fire. There wasn't much of the dictionary left, and, while I counted, fivehundreds and then C's, he tore and dropped. I counted it twice to make sure, and when I finished there was no more dictionary except the binding. 16 'Twenty-two grand,' I said. 'Will this burn?' he asked. 'Sure; it's buckram. It may smell a little. You knew you were going to burn it when you bought it. Otherwise you would have ordered leather.' No response. He was bending forward, getting the binding satisfactorily placed. There was still enough fire, since Fritz had used wood as well as kindling. Watching the binding starting to curl, he spoke. 'Take Miss Blount to the office and give her a receipt. I'll join you shortly.' fc CHAPTER TWO Twenty-two thousand dollars is not hay. Even after expenses and taxes it would make a healthy contribution to the upkeep of the old brownstone on West Thirty-fifth Street, owned by Wolfe, lived in and worked in by him, by Fritz Brenner, chef and house-keeper, and by me, and worked in by Theodore Horstmann, who spent ten hours a day, and sometimes more, nursing the ten thousand orchids in the plant rooms at the top of the house. I once calculated the outgo per hour for a period of six months, but I won't mention the figure because the District Director of Internal Revenue might read this and tell one of his 17 sniffers to compare it with the income tax report. As for the twenty-two grand, received in cash, he would find it included in income. But when, at a quarter past one, I returned to the office after letting Sally Blount out and put the wad in the safe, I was by no means chipper. We had the wad with no strings attached; Wolfe had made it clear that his only commitment was to give it a try, but it seemed more than likely that we were licked before we started, and that's hard to take for the ego of a wizard, not to mention a dog. I had filled a dozen pages of my notebook with such items as: 1.Читать дальше